


Disciplining Miss Black

by Gamma_Orionis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Captivity, Community: kink_bigbang, Discipline, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Sexual Content, Submission, Torture, Wordcount: 10000-30000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamma_Orionis/pseuds/Gamma_Orionis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cygnus Black's attempts to control his daughter's behaviour have failed time and again, so he hands her over to the Dark Lord, hoping that he'll make an impression on her.  Written for the 2012/2013 kink_bigbang</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to imera, who drew the amazing artwork for this fic! View it [here](http://imera.livejournal.com/24493.html).

Bellatrix blamed Rodolphus for getting them caught.

She had told him that it wasn’t safe to make love in her family’s manor, no matter that no one except them was home.  She had insisted that they should go to _his_ home and into his bedroom and lock the door before they even kissed, but he had taken her in his arms and pressed her body against his and it had been very, very difficult to say no to him.

Bellatrix had let Rodolphus push her against the wall in the parlour, and his hands caressed her body, running over her breasts and down her waist as his mouth pressed against hers.

“Oh, _Rod_ ,” she murmured.  She could feel the heat of his body – his strong, powerful body, flattened against hers, the thump of his heart against her breasts and the swell of his cock against her hip.  He grasped her breasts and kneaded them roughly in his hands, drawing moans and gasps from Bellatrix.

And it was then, while Bellatrix arched against Rodolphus’s hands, while the two of them kissed hard and passionately and rolled their hips against each others’, that Bellatrix’s father came home.

The fight had been terrible.  Cygnus had raged at Bellatrix and Rodolphus for what felt like hours – telling them that they were disgraces to their family names, and that a man and a woman lying together before marriage was as bad as a woman lying with a man other than her husband and on and on like that, until Bellatrix had wanted to scream.  And at the end of it all, Cygnus had ordered Rodolphus to go back home – with the promise that his parents would hear about what had happened, and then Cygnus turned on Bellatrix.

“And _you!_ ” he raged.  “This is the last time you will do something like _this_ under my roof!”

“He’s going to be my husband – I think we’re entitled to kiss!” Bellatrix snapped at him.  She had already been thoroughly humiliated by listening to her father rage about her to Rodolphus as if she wasn’t standing right there, and she had no patience left.  “We were hardly even _doing_ anything!”

“Don’t think I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been caught!” Cygnus shouted.  “And whether he’s to be your husband or not isn’t the important matter – what is important is that your mother and I have tried to teach you self-control and ladylike behaviour and you- you act like _this!_ ”

Bellatrix clenched her hands into fists and planted them on her hips, drawing herself up to her full height.  “I will do exactly as I please.  You can’t control me, no matter how much you try!”

Cygnus looked like he was about to explode from sheer fury.  Bellatrix felt the tiniest twinge of fear in her stomach, but she suppressed it quickly – if he even tried to lay a hand on her, or if he reached for his wand, she would hex him until he couldn’t stand.  She would be justified in it.

But Cygnus made no move to attack.  He glared at his daughter, his lips twitching and nostrils flaring, and then, at last, he snapped, “Fine.  Very well.  If you refuse to acknowledge my authority –”

“Because you have none over me.”

Fresh rage seemed to bubble up inside Cygnus, and Bellatrix could see him fighting to keep it inside.  It was almost entertaining to see her father struggling so hard against his emotions.

“If you refuse to acknowledge my authority, then I will send you to someone whose authority you can’t ignore,” he finished. 

Bellatrix let out a sharp bark of laughter.  “And who do you think is _so_ special that I couldn’t _possibly_ do anything but be in awe of him, _Father?_ ” she mocked. 

Cygnus’s face was flushed darkly, and he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly through gritted teeth before he answered.

“I do believe that you will have some difficulty in denying the power of the Dark Lord, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix felt the blood drain from her cheeks, a chill coming over her, head to foot.  “The Dark Lord?  What does the Dark Lord have to do with me?”

“I’ll ask a favour of him.”  Cygnus still looked crazed with anger, but his eyes had begun to gleam and he looked at Bellatrix with something like triumph on his face.  “I will ask him to take my daughter in and teach her respect for her elders.  And he will be able to do it – you don’t think he can?” he added when Bellatrix snorted softly and rolled her eyes.

“No, I don’t think he can,” she said scornfully.  “I’m not inclined to believe that anyone can make me respect anyone else.  You don’t deserve my respect, and neither does he!”

She had expected that to break her father’s will and make him explode at her – she had _hoped_ that it would, even, because she desperately wanted an excuse to fight; it would be such a relief to her to curse him – but he just gave her a small, rather twisted sneer.

“We shall see about that, Bellatrix,” he said.  “We shall see about that.”

– – –   – – –

Bellatrix didn’t for a moment believe that her father would follow through – to send a message to the Dark Lord, telling him in so many words that Cygnus couldn’t control his own daughter would surely be too much of a blow to his pride to ever carry it out.  Bellatrix spent the bulk of her time avoiding her family, as she always did, and it came as a profound shock to her one evening when her father burst into her bedroom with a travelling bag in his hands.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, and he didn’t even look at her.  He was pulling open the drawers of her armoire, shoving articles of clothing into the bag.

“Packing for you.  You’re leaving in the morning.”

“Leaving for where?”

“For the Dark Lord’s home.”

“ _What?_ ”  Bellatrix had stood, had taken a step towards her father, and the shock of the statement actually sent her stumbling back a few steps.  She grabbed her bedpost for support and stared, wide-eyed, at him.  “You- you can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I most certainly am.”  He turned to her, narrowing his eyes dangerously.  “I told you that I would send you to him, and I told you that he would teach you discipline, and that is exactly what is going to happen.”

“But- but –”

“There’s no point in arguing now, Bellatrix.”  He turned away and fastened the clasps on the bag, then set it down at the foot of her bed.  “All the arrangements have already been made.  You’re going to the Dark Lord.  And it will do you good,” he added sharply.  “So don’t bother with your complaining.”

“You can’t _actually_ mean to send me into a stranger’s home- a _man’s_ home!”

“The Dark Lord,” Cygnus said, a note of reverence rising in his voice, “is much, much more than just _a man_.  I have no doubt that you will be safe in his hands, and I expect that when he returns you to me, you will be behaving like a proper young lady.”

Bellatrix couldn’t speak.  She had never been so overcome by anger, and yet so unable to articulate it.  The idea that she was being handed off to another man so that he could _fix_ her – the idea that she was meant to have respect for the Dark Lord when clearly he had so little to do with his time that he was willing to take on a ward…

She tossed and turned all night, raging privately about it, and when her father knocked on her door the next morning, she was in a terribly foul temper.  Her father had to all but drag her out of her bedroom, and he really did drag her out of the house to Disapparate.

Bellatrix tried to shake off her father’s hand.  He had her gripped firmly by her elbow and was leading her through the snow up towards the small house perched precariously on the top of the hill.  She pulled away and slipped in the snow, straightening up quickly.

“I can walk by myself, Father,” she told him sharply.

“You have proven quite beyond doubt that you are absolutely incapable of doing anything by yourself,” he snapped back.  He didn’t even _look_ at her, and Bellatrix crossed her arms defiantly and stopped. 

“Have I?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he told her, turning back and glaring at her.  “You clearly aren’t capable of even being left alone for a few minutes–”

Bellatrix’s face was bright red.  She wanted to slap him, but what was the use anymore?  Her fate was sealed: she was going to be locked up in the Dark Lord’s home for what she could only assume would  be an obscenely long time, and she expected that angering her father now would only increase the length of her stay there.  So she turned and glared up at the house on the hill instead of looking at him.

“The Dark Lord lives here?” she asked, trying not to sound as furious as she felt.

“ _Yes_ , the Dark Lord lives here.”  Her father’s voice suddenly sounded a little more respectful than it had when he was talking to her – he lowered it and a small smile curved his lips.  “He has very kindly agreed to take.  You should be extremely grateful.”

“Don’t try to make it sound as if he’s doing something more proper and honourable than what it is,” Bellatrix scoffed.  “You and I both know that he’s only taking me off your hands because you don’t know how to treat your daughter–”

“Watch your mouth, Bellatrix,” Cygnus told her, though he didn’t sound half as angry as he had the previous evening.  “You will not be permitted to speak like that to the Dark Lord.  He will exercise more discipline over you than you can even _imagine_ …”

“I don’t need discipline!”  She stamped her foot.  “I need to be left alone!”

“Don’t be childish, Bellatrix!” he told her, narrowing his eyes.  “You are never going to be _left alone._   You are going to grow up into a good, proper lady and marry Rodolphus _as you should_ , and you will be a decent wife to him, _whether you like it or not_.”

Bellatrix felt a lump rising in her throat and swallowed it down quickly.  The last thing that she wanted was to cry in front of her father when he was handing her off to a stranger – to beat some sense into her, she assumed.  She couldn’t imagine that the Dark Lord – who she knew of only through the odd article in the Daily Prophet (which she rarely glanced at) and the even odder whispered comment from her parents – would be a particularly skilful disciplinarian.  He was probably exactly like her father, who believed that a belt was a good tool to teach lessons to children.

Cygnus caught her by the hood of her cloak and dragged her forward, slogging through the snow.  She could sense how eager he was to get rid of her, to put her into the hands of the Dark Lord so that he would no longer have to pay any attention to her.  She couldn’t even blame him – she wouldn’t have wanted to pay attention to herself if she had been him.

“Now,” Cygnus said firmly when they reached the door.  He turned and looked at her with narrowed eyes.  “I expect you to be on your _best behaviour_ with the Dark Lord, _do you understand me?_   There will be absolutely _no–_ ”

“I’ll be good, yes, I promise,” Bellatrix said impatiently.  “I won’t get into trouble, I won’t fuck anyone–”

“None of that language from you!”

Bellatrix fell silent, glaring mutinously at her father.

She thought that this entire reaction was completely unnecessary.  She thought that sending her to spend months in a stranger’s home was a completely out-of-hand response to a bit of perhaps immature behaviour.

But she had tried to make all sorts of arguments against it and every single one had failed.  So here she was, being brought to the Dark Lord’s home and left there like a misbehaving dog…

Cygnus rapped on the door and Bellatrix turned away a little, folding her arms across her chest.  She bowed her head so that her hair fell in her eyes and adopted her best superior sneer.  She didn’t know much about the Dark Lord, but she knew that she wanted him to get a very specific impression of her: an improper Pureblood girl, superior to him, and someone who _did not want to be there._

The door swung open.

Bellatrix didn’t look in right away.  She kept her head down until she heard her father say “My Lord”, and then glanced up with purposeful carelessness.

The Dark Lord was standing in the doorway with one eyebrow raised slightly.  Bellatrix scanned him up and down, trying to judge him by his appearance.

He was rather thinner than she had imagined him – from the few times that she had seen his photograph in the paper, and the even fewer times that she had (she was told) caught a glimpse of him at gatherings, she had always thought him rather solidly built.  Perhaps it was simply that then, he was always wearing bulky robes and cloaks (as if covering himself up to avoid being recognized, perhaps), and now, he was dressed in simple, black robes that hung off his frame.  His eyes were dark and had perhaps the slightest touch of a bloodshot cast to them, and his hair was dark and neatly combed into place.

Bellatrix didn’t think that she had ever seen a less intimidating man.

She suppressed a snort, raising one eyebrow as he looked at her.  What had her father been thinking, handing her off to a man like this?  He would not be able to control her any better than her own family could – probably quite a bit worse, actually, for Bellatrix thought that she could probably best him in a physical fight if she needed to.  She didn’t expect that she ever _would_ need to – after all, he was probably better with a wand than he was with his fists, and would go to that first – but if she could win a fistfight, there was no reason to think that she wouldn’t be able to win a duel as well.  The title of _the Dark Lord_ suddenly seemed even more ludicrous than it had before.

“Cygnus,” he said, and his voice was smooth, cool, and perhaps a little high-pitched.  Bellatrix covered her mouth and pretended to cough to hide her snicker.  “Your daughter, I presume?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Cygnus said, inclining his head and taking Bellatrix by her wrist again.  He pulled her forward and pushed her gently over the threshold, so that she was standing barely a foot away from the Dark Lord.  He was a good deal taller than her, if nothing else, and Bellatrix disliked having to tilt her head back to look at him.

“Bellatrix Black, isn’t it?” he asked in an unnaturally cordial tone.  He held out his hand to take Bellatrix’s, and when she let him, he raised it to his lips and kissed it.  A shiver of revulsion ran down Bellatrix’s spine – she didn’t want this man kissing her, not even her hand.  She disliked it when all the men at balls and parties did it, and this was even worse, somehow…

“Thank you for this favour, my Lord,” Cygnus said humbly.  Bellatrix had never heard her father sound so incredibly modest and quiet.  He certainly _sounded_ as if he was talking to a superior, but if that was the case, why was the Dark Lord never invited to any of the functions that Bellatrix’s family was constantly holding?  Why did Cygnus so rarely talk about him?

“It is my pleasure, Cygnus.”  The Dark Lord had been holding Bellatrix’s hand just a few inches from his mouth, and he dropped it and stepped back.  “Do come in, Miss Black…”

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him.  _Miss Black_ was something that only her professors at Hogwarts had ever called her – anyone else knew that it was better not to, not least because they would always get a response from her and her sisters if they were all present.

“Thank you, Mr…?”  She trailed off, looking at him questioningly, and if she was not mistaken, a touch of a flush came to his pale cheeks. 

“We shall discuss how you will address me later,” he told her, and Bellatrix’s nostrils flared.  She clenched her hands into fists and resisted the urge to plant them defiantly on her hips.  How _dare_ he speak to her like this – like he was the sort of person who had a right to her respect?  He _didn’t_ , not for a single moment!

“I am most indebted to you, my Lord,” Cygnus said, and the Dark Lord nodded at him.

“I shall write to you in a few days with news of how things are… working,” he said.  Bellatrix looked at him sharply, her heart beating a little faster.  _How things are working_ suddenly sounded very sinister to her, though she was unsure as to whether that was his intent, or whether she was simply overanalysing matters.  But the way he said it made her wonder exactly how he planned on exercising discipline over her.  He _surely_ wouldn’t punish her very harshly… not when she was a _Black…_

“Write to me if there are any problems,” Cygnus said, and now he sounded a little worried.  “Bellatrix too.  If there’s anything that you need–”

“There won’t be,” the Dark Lord interrupted smoothly.  “I promise you that.  We will be most… _happy_ together, I promise you.  We will not require any assistance.”

“But if you do–”

“I will write to you in a few days,” the Dark Lord repeated firmly.  “And you may be secure in the knowledge that the news you will receive will be quite positive.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Cygnus said, then he cast one more nervous glance at Bellatrix and Disapparated.

Bellatrix waited until she was quite sure that her father was gone, then let out a deep breath and glared at the Dark Lord openly.

“Miss Black,” he repeated.  “Won’t you come in?”

She wanted to resist – to say _no, I most certainly will not be coming in, and actually, I think that I will leave right now_.  But she didn’t dare to do it.  She would have nowhere to go – her family would not take her in when they knew that she was supposed to be with the Dark Lord.  Rodolphus _might_ have offered to let her stay with him, but she doubted that his parents would be at all willing, and perhaps they would be even less willing than her own.  Perhaps his parents were even angrier at her than her own were…

So she stepped inside and glanced around critically while the Dark Lord shut and locked the door.  The lock made an unpleasantly final-sounding _click._

The house was modest, both in size and furnishing.  It wasn’t much bigger than some of the little summer houses that the Blacks owned – perhaps even smaller – and those were intended more for show than for use.  The interior was panelled in dark wood, and the walls were bare, displaying no paintings or artwork or any of the things that Bellatrix was accustomed to seeing on walls.  She didn’t believe that she had ever been in so simple and sparse a household as this.

“Miss Black,” the Dark Lord said, and she whipped around. _I’ll slap those words right out of your mouth_.

“I would prefer it, sir, if you called me _Bellatrix_ ,” she told him, planting her hands on her hips. 

“And I would prefer, _Miss Black_ , to call you _Miss Black._ ”

“It is my name.”

“And this is my household.”

Bellatrix glared at him.  She wanted to give him a kick, give him a slap, tell him off for treating her like such an inferior.  What gave him that right?  What made him think that he was any better than her, save for a title that he had imposed upon himself, and a false sense of superiority that she could only assume stemmed from _some_ sort of psychological disorder.

“And, Miss Black, you will call me _my Lord_ ,” he continued, keeping his eyes directly on her.  “You will not call me _Mr._ anything.  _Sir_ is appropriate, if you prefer that.  I will not complain.”

“And why should I call you _my Lord when you are not my Lord_?” Bellatrix demanded, her voice rising a little.  He seemed absolutely unfazed by her anger.

“You should call me your Lord, Miss Black, because for as long as you are in my home, that is what I am.  And you will be in my home until I see fit to let you go.”

“I’m not your prisoner!”

“I would differ from you on that count,” he told her calmly.  None of her anger seemed to have any effect on him at all.  “Your father has sent you to me to instil discipline in you and that is what I shall be doing.  Is that clear?”

“And how exactly do you propose to instil discipline in me, _Sir_?” Bellatrix asked scornfully.  “My parents have already tried beatings and keeping me locked in a room, so if either of those are in your plans, you might as well not waste your time.”

He looked at her, seeming rather unimpressed.

“Why are you here, Miss Black?” he asked her, after a moment.  “I would like it very much if you would explain – in your own words – what you’ve done to have yourself sent here.  I believe that it would lend me some perspective on the situation.”

“I’m here,” Bellatrix said, forcing her voice not to shake with anger, “because my parents can’t stand the thought of their daughter going to bed with her husband-to-be–”

“Really?”

“Yes, really!” she snapped.  “They caught me in bed with the man I’m going to be married to, and because we aren’t married yet, they decided that they had better ship me off to you to try to put a sense of dignity into me, as if this is going to do anything for me.  I’m sure you’re very _talented, Sir_ , but you aren’t going to be able to stop me from sleeping with my _fiancé._ ”

He raised one eyebrow slowly, staring straight into her eyes.  “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is so!”

“Who is your fiancé?”

Bellatrix was thrown by the question, though she supposed that she ought to have expected it.  “It’s Rodolphus Lestrange, sir.”

“Rodolphus Lestrange…”  He rolled the name around his mouth, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling.  “Rabastan Lestrange’s brother, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“I know Rabastan Lestrange very well,” he said thoughtfully.  “I presume that his brother is very like him?”

“No, actually,” Bellatrix said irritably.  “They’re very different.  Rabastan is hardly a man,” she added with a derisive sneer.  “He’s absolutely _useless_ in bed, for one.”

The Dark Lord’s lip curled.  “Would you know?”

“Maybe,” she said, curling her lips into a sneer.  _Let him think that she had more experience than she did._   Of _course_ she had never gone to bed with Rabastan Lestrange – she doubted that anyone ever had, even Andromeda, who was his betrothed, but just _looking_ at him, she was positive that he would never be able to please anyone.  He was too weak to even sit up without help – how would he ever be able to satisfy someone in bed?

“Do not judge by appearances, Bellatrix,” the Dark Lord said quietly.  “They can be deceiving, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“I’m not here for hackneyed life lessons, _my Lord_ ,” Bellatrix told him scornfully.  “I’m here under duress and I would prefer to spend as little time listening to you say things like _that_ as possible.”

“As you wish, Miss Black.”  Still no anger in his voice – it was uncanny; she was sure that if she had been talking to her father, he would have given up and begun to shout at her a long time ago.  “You do not need to listen to my advice – though you really ought to bear in mind that the more insolent you are, the more control I shall be forced to exercise over you.”

Bellatrix raised her chin defiantly.  “With all due respect, _my Lord_ ,” she said, spitting out the last two words with the same contempt that she felt for all those who tried to give her orders, “you will not be exercising any control over me.”

“Yes, _Miss Black,_ I will.”  His eyes narrowed and she thought that she saw a flicker of red in them, though it must surely have just been the sunlight reflecting off of them.  “You will go to your bedroom immediately.  I do not take kindly to your disrespect for authority.”

“Will I?”  She drew herself to her full height, almost able to look him directly in the eyes.

“You most certainly will.”  His hand shot out and her breath caught when he squeezed her arm tightly.  “I am taking you back to your bedroom _right now_ , and you will remain there until tomorrow morning.”

“Make me!”  Bellatrix knew that she sounded like a child, but she was half-blind with anger at this man who thought that he could give her orders.  He was _not_ her superior, no matter what her parents told her.  He was _not_ her superior, no matter what he believed.

He raised his other hand threateningly, as if he was about to slap her, and though she flinched automatically, she didn’t pull away from him.  _Let him slap her_ – she would tell her father that the man she had been sent to had physically attacked her, and then Cygnus would take her away from this place, and she would be all right.  Cygnus would not stand for another man hurting his daughter, not physically, surely…

But the Dark Lord did not hit her.  He clenched his hand into a fist and lowered it slowly, glaring at her.

“I have no particular desire to hurt you, Bellatrix,” he told her in a low, dangerous voice.  Bellatrix didn’t think that she had ever been quite so afraid as she was then, but she held her head high.

“Then don’t hurt me.  Don’t even touch me.”  She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, but it only tightened and he put his free hand around her throat.  He twisted her around and pushed her firmly into the wall, breathing heavily.

“But I will hurt you if I need to.  If you need me to.”

“Why would I need you to hurt me?” Bellatrix hissed, trying to push him back.  Her heart was pounding and he was so close that she could feel the heat of his body.  “I’m not a child who needs a beating for discipline!”

“On the contrary…”  His voice caught a little, and for a moment, Bellatrix was truly afraid that he was going to hurt her, but then he stepped back and shook his head.

“But I will not hurt you _unless_ I need to,” he said, and his voice, which had, a moment before, been thick with some sort of emotion that Bellatrix wasn’t sure what to call, was cold and clinical once again.  He stepped back from her, shaking his head.

“Go to your bedroom _immediately_ , Miss Black,” he told her, pointing at a door.  Bellatrix glared at him, trying to look defiant and challenging, but she couldn’t very well turn him down.  She was sure that he would be willing to attack her now – she had doubted it before, thought that he was too afraid of her father to really cause her any harm, but the way that he was looking at her made her think differently.  He seemed almost _hungry_ , like an animal just waiting for her to make a mistake…

“Fine,” she said, then turned on her heel and swept into the room.  She did it before he could see how much he had upset her.


	2. Chapter 2

The Dark Lord frightened Bellatrix, though she tried to pretend that he didn’t.  She spent the whole day in the bedroom that he had indicated, sitting on the bed with her legs curled up to her chest and her head on her knees, trying to mentally compose letters to everyone she could think of to tell about this – her father, her mother, her sisters, Rodolphus, her aunt Walburga, her cousin Regulus.  They should all know how the Dark Lord was threatening her. 

But _surely_ he wouldn’t really hurt her.  _Surely_ he would know better than to cause any real harm to a Black.

Maybe, she thought as she sat in bed and pondered it, this was all part of his ploy to make her obey him.  He was acting like he could hurt her when he really couldn’t, and letting her own paranoia take control – making her _think_ that he was going to hurt her far more than he actually ever could.

If that was the case, if that was the game he was playing, she would not cooperate.  She would not allow herself to be intimidated by him.  She was superior to him, no matter what he believed – after all, she was a Black, and what family did he come from?  None of consequence, she was sure.

Her parents might have failed in any attempts to teach her “ladylike behaviour”, but they had at least taught her pride in her name and herself.  She would not bow to this man.  She was better than him.

When he called her down to dinner – in a tone that implied no room for argument – she went without protest (verbal protest, at least), but in her mind, she repeated over and over: _you are a Black.  You are better than him.  He can do nothing to you_.

Bellatrix sat at the dinner table and did not eat.  She would starve herself if she had to – if that was what it would take for the Dark Lord to see that she had no respect for his authority over her.  He watched her – not even touching his own food – and she waited, looking straight into his eyes with the most challenging glare she could muster, until he set his fork down and stood up.  He moved towards her and she kept her eyes defiantly upon him.

“This behaviour is absolutely unacceptable,” he told her, and he sounded more dangerous than ever before.  He grabbed the back of her chair and wrenched it backwards, then pulled her to her feet.  Bellatrix tried not to respond, tried not to give him the satisfaction of appearing afraid or distressed, but she couldn’t help it.  Her hands began to shake.

“I have been _so_ patient with you,” he hissed, shaking her a little.  “I have tried to give you every benefit, I have left you to your own devices as I know you wished me to, I have tried to make it clear to you that I wish for this whole matter of you as my houseguest to be finished as much as you do, and you test me over and over again!”

“What are you going to do to me?” Bellatrix asked.  Her head snapped  back and forth when he shook her and it _hurt_.  Her voice was beginning to choke with tears.  She tried to sniff them back.  She didn’t want to cry in front of him, no, _oh, please, don’t let me cry in front of him_.  But her mind was already filling up with images of what he would do.

His wand was out already and she felt the tip pressing into her chest, between her breasts.  Her body tensed automatically. 

“What are you going to do?” she repeated, voice shaking terribly, then she added, “don’t hurt me – I’ll tell my father if you hurt me!”

“No, you will not,” he told her.  His voice had turned to a low growl, rather more primal than she had imagined that he would ever be able to speak in.  She pulled back and he dragged her forward again, slamming her face-up onto the table.  His hand went to her neck, pressing it down, and his wand trailed a slow, almost lazy line down her breast and stomach.

“I could do anything to you right now,” he whispered, “and you would not be able to do anything about it.  You wouldn’t be able to contact your father – not without me finding out, I promise you…”

“Don’t hurt me,” Bellatrix repeated.  She clawed at his hands, but he flicked his wand lazily and her arms were wrenched up above her head, bound by invisible ropes and laying her torso bare.  She felt like a turtle on its back, her belly exposed and vulnerable and with him holding her down…

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said mournfully, then shook his head.  “Well, perhaps that is not _quite_ true.  I did not _expect_ to have to do this.”

“To have to do what?” Bellatrix whispered, but barely had the words left her mouth when he stabbed his wand into her lower belly and hissed “ _Crucio!_ ”

Her body arched off the table, kept in place only by his hand on her throat.  She couldn’t even muster up the strength to scream – every ounce of energy in her body seemed immediately absorbed by the wave of pain that was washing through her.  Her very bones could have been on fire, and she let out a long, desperate sob that turned into a sharp inhalation at the end.  The pain would not abate, and his wand was digging deeper and deeper into her stomach.  She brought up her legs, trying to kick him away, but he did not move and she had so little control of her body while under the spell that she didn’t think that she was able to hit him at all.

“ _Stop!_ ” she managed to scream and he _didn’t_ , he didn’t, he kept the spell on her…

And then it was gone.  His hand moved away from her neck and Bellatrix slithered off the table onto the floor, lying in a twitching, useless heap at his feet.  Her vision was starry with pain.  For a long time, she couldn’t even tell which way was up – couldn’t tell whether she was even alive anymore – and then she felt his hand on her arm, pulling her upright, and she looked up at him with streaming, teary eyes.

“Do you see what needs to happen to you when you disobey me, Bellatrix?” he asked quietly, almost tenderly.  She blinked her tears away and saw that his face was a little flushed, shining with perspiration, and his eyes glittered.  “Do you want that to happen again?”

“N- no- my Lord,” Bellatrix whimpered.  _She could use the title he loved so much – anything, so long as he didn’t hurt her again_.

“Good girl,” he murmured.  “Stand up.”

She didn’t think that her legs would be able to support her.  Heaving herself to her feet was the most difficult thing that she had ever done and she wobbled, clutching the edge of the table.

“You may hold onto me for support,” he told her, holding one arm out.  Bellatrix shook her head defiantly – she would _not_ hold the hand of someone who had hurt her _like that._   She would not take his hand like a child who had fallen.  She would _not._

She wiped her eyes, taking deep breaths and trying to steady herself.  She was still twitching with pain – still dizzy with it – but the world was beginning to come into focus.  The Dark Lord waited quite patiently for her, and at last, she managed to look up at him properly.

His chest was heaving and his wand hand was quivering a little, his knuckles white on the handle, but Bellatrix’s eyes were not drawn to that.  She was looking down at his robes, and she pulled back instinctively at the sight of a damp stain on their front.

“You- you–” she stammered, and he slapped her.

“Shut your mouth,” he ordered her, and when Bellatrix only whimpered, his voice softened.  “It’s only because you look so pretty when you’re crying – if you don’t want it, then don’t cry!”

Bellatrix gulped, wiping her eyes again and nodding.  _Anything, anything, just get away from me._

“You have to know, Bellatrix,” he continued, and now he didn’t sound angry in the slightest.  There was an edge of lust in his voice that she didn’t know what to think of.  “You _must_ know that you are the sort of woman that a man such as myself desires…”  His hand moved to rest on her waist and she slapped it away.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, and I wouldn’t,” he told her, hand falling back immediately.  “I wouldn’t touch you until you want it…”

“ _Until!_   I _don’t_ want it – I don’t want you- you _sick_ – you _twisted–_ ”  Words escaped Bellatrix and she stammered helplessly, then finally her back on him.  “I _will never!_ ”

“You lie, Miss Black.”  He placed his hands on her waist again, and Bellatrix forced herself not to let out another sob.  “I know that you _will_ … but there is no hurry.”

“I’ll tell my father!”

“You will not.  Do not be so dreadfully dull, Miss Black.”  One hand was caressing her hip gently.  “You and I both know quite well that you father will not be hearing anything of this.”

“I don’t _believe you,_ ” she said, voice shaking.  “Take- take your hands off of me.”

They moved away and she heard him step backwards.  She dared not look behind her.

“Very well,” he said, after a moment’s silence.  “Very well, I will wait.  I will wait until you change your mind – it will happen soon enough.”

She didn’t look back until she had heard his footsteps retreat and heard the door shut, and then she sank to the ground and dissolved into tears.

Never before in her life had Bellatrix felt so helpless.  Never before had she been so completely at the mercy of another person as she had been when the Dark Lord had held her down to that table.  It went against everything that she knew about herself and about her social status – her social status as _a person superior to anyone else_.

She had never been at _anyone’s_ mercy before, she didn’t think.  Not even once.

And the longer she sat there and thought about it, wiping her eyes – the more time she had to distance herself from the reality of the pain – the more Bellatrix began to think that it had actually been a rather… _interesting_ experience.

She swallowed and bit on her tongue until she tasted blood.  She shouldn’t think _anything_ good about being in a situation like _that_.

The pain hadn’t felt good.  Not even after she had sat there and let enough time pass to dull it.  That had been horrible.

But the feeling of being pinned down and completely at someone else’s mercy?

That, the more she thought about it, hadn’t been _entirely_ unpleasant.

Bellatrix lay in bed that night and thought about it, and the further away the memory of the pain became, the angrier it made her.  She pushed away any doubtful thoughts – any part of her mind that wanted her to believe that things hadn’t been as bad as she had thought – and all that was left was raw fury. 

She couldn’t believe the nerve of the Dark Lord – to treat her so poorly when it must have been obvious to him that she wanted to be in his home as little as he wanted her there.  How could he not see the disgust on her face every time she looked at him?

And what he had done – the curses, the threats, the torture – those were _illegal_ things to do, besides being immoral.  How did he dare?

She sat up and rubbed her eyes.  She would not stand for it, she would not.  Her father would hear of what the Dark Lord was doing to her and he would take her away from this horrible, disgusting place.  He would find a new way to discipline her, for even he would never keep his daughter in such horrible conditions.  Whatever else he devised as a punishment could be nowhere near as bad as leaving her to the Dark Lord.

She stood up and a shiver ran down her spine.  She hugged herself, a draft chilling her through her filmy nightdress, then tiptoed to her door and pressed her ear against it, listening for noises.  Everything was perfectly silent.  She cracked the door and peered out, then, seeing no one, slipped out and stole down the corridor, towards the Dark Lord’s study.  The door was ajar and she breathed a sigh of relief.  She stepped in and latched the door behind her, then turned to the fireplace.

A candle flickered to life, and a quiet, amused voice spoke.  “Well, well, Miss Black.  Fancy seeing you out of bed at this hour.”

Bellatrix froze.  The Dark Lord was sitting in an armchair by the fire, the candle in his hand and a small, sardonic smile on his face.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix stammered.  “I- I was just­–”

“I’ll thank you not to insult my intelligence with some story about getting lost on the way to the kitchens or any such thing, Miss Black,” he said.  There was not a trace of anger in his tone, only amusement and perhaps a hint of exasperation.  “I know that you came here to send a message to your father.”

“I…”  There was no point in denying it.  Bellatrix cast a longing glance at the tin of Floo powder on the mantle – she was so _close_ , so close to being able to expose this man for what he was.  _Sick.  Lecherous.  Disgusting._

“Now, Miss Black, I do believe that you and I have gotten off on quite the wrong foot,” he said, setting the candle aside and leaning back, tapping his fingers together.  “I take partial responsibility for that, but–”

“ _Partial responsibility?_ ”  She had meant to keep quiet, but she couldn’t stand there and listen to him say such things to her.  “You- you _tortured_ me!”

“You deserved it.”

“Don’t you dare say that to me!”

The Dark Lord stood up and Bellatrix shrank back automatically, fidgeting slightly and looking away.  He really was quite intimidating, she had to admit, no matter how much she wished to believe that he had no effect on her.

“From the moment you arrived in my home, Miss Black, you have refused to respect my authority,” he said coldly.  “I have been patient with you – you are young, after all, with plenty of time to learn proper respect for your superiors–”

“You are not my superior!” Bellatrix cried indignantly, but he ignored her.

“But I think that now, it’s time for me to remind you of your place.”

Bellatrix watched him warily as he set the candle down and turned to her, then his hand lashed out and caught her by her shoulder.  He swung her around, pushing her up against the wall of his study, and his body pressed hard against hers.  Bellatrix stiffened.

“Just- what- do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her breath coming out in husky gasps.

“What do _you_ think I’m doing?” he murmured.  He let one hand rest on her shoulder, and the other skimmed down to her waist.  Bellatrix shivered at his touch – it was too intimate, and there was something about the way he was looking down at her that gave her the sense that she was at his mercy, though that _wasn’t_ true, it just _wasn’t_.

“Take your hands off me,” she told him, though she knew that there was nothing about her tone that would incline him to step away.  She sounded weak and as breathless as a girl in a romance novel.

“Make me.”  His lip twitched up into a smirk.

She raised a hand to slap him, but he caught it and his fingers dug firmly into her skin.

“Oh, now, you shouldn’t resort to such _basic_ violence, Miss Black,” he breathed.  “You and I both know that you’re better than that.   Don’t you know any curses to use against me?”

“Let me go!”

“Or maybe you don’t want to…” he continued, dropping her hand and pressing himself against her again.  His lips brushed her forehead and a shiver ran down her spine.  “Maybe you don’t _really_ want me to let go of you – because if you did, you’d do something more than try to slap…”

“I’ll tell my Father about this,” Bellatrix threatened.  Her breath was coming in sharp little gasps.  The sensation of the Dark Lord’s chest pressed up against hers, his leg pressing between her thighs, the awareness she had of his every breath and heartbeat, it was all frighteningly intense.

“What will you tell him?” he asked, all simple curiosity.  He didn’t sound accusing or threatening, merely interested in what Bellatrix would say.

“That- that you put your hands on me…”

“Oh, no, you won’t tell him that.”  He placed a hand on her waist again, then let it skim up her torso until it was hovering at the level of her breasts.  “You wouldn’t want him finding that out…”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because then,” he murmured, “I might have to tell him how much you enjoyed it…”

Bellatrix stiffened.  “How- how _dare_ you!”

“Let’s not be dishonest, Miss Black,” he murmured.  His fingers brushed her breast and Bellatrix curled her hands into fists.  “I felt how you enjoyed it when I put the Cruciatus curse on you – you know, for all your talk about how much _better_ you are than anyone else, you really do like being humbled like this, don’t you?  Don’t you enjoy knowing that I could do whatever I wanted to you right here, right now, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop me?”

“I would be able to do things to stop you!”

“Oh?  What?” he asked, sounding quite thoroughly amused at the prospect.  “Scream?  Who do you think would hear you?  Or would you try to fight back?  Bite and kick and scratch me?  What do you think that would achieve – you wouldn’t be able to fight me off forever, and you’re trapped here… you understand that, don’t you?”  His hand tightened on her breast.  “You are as good as my prisoner.  What do you think of that… _Miss Black_?”

“That’s not true,” she said, lifting her chin and trying to ignore the way his thumb was circling her nipple, so slowly, so gently, raising it up into a stiff little point despite her best attempts to any form of desire absent from her thoughts.

“Oh, but it is.  Where would you go if you got away from me?”

Bellatrix didn’t answer.  She knew nothing about the area surrounding the Dark Lord’s home, but she was sure that she could run away if she needed to.  She could get away from the house and Disapparate, go back to her own home, and then she would tell her father everything that had happened – she hadn’t done anything wrong, it wasn’t her fault, and she most _certainly_ wasn’t enjoying anything that the Dark Lord was doing to her.

“You don’t really believe that you’d be able to get away from me – don’t pretend that you do.  I’d find you, and you know that.”

“What do you want from me?” Bellatrix spat out the words with as much contempt as she could muster.  “Can’t you find someone your own age?  You need to take in young ladies as prisoners to get anyone to touch you?  _Pathetic_ ,” she sneered.

“On the contrary, Miss Black, this isn’t for my benefit…”  He seemed unaffected by her insults.  Not even amused by them – his tone was empty of any sort of emotion.  “You were sent here for the sake of discipline, and you will receive discipline from me.  I’m here to teach you self-control… and to teach you that you are _not_ the most powerful person in every given situation – a concept that you have shown yourself to completely fail to grasp.”

Bellatrix flushed.  “I know I’m not the most powerful person in every situation,” she snapped.  “I’m not a child.”

“Oh, I know that you aren’t a child,” he murmured.  “But I’ve seen the way you act, and you’ve spoken to me, and I _know_ that you believe yourself to be better than me…”

“That’s because I don’t feel the need to express my superiority over people half my age!”

He laughed.  “You still think that this is about me, don’t you?  You still think that all of this is meant to make me feel better about myself?  Oh, Miss Black…”  He twined his fingers through her hair and pulled her head back so that she was forced to stare straight up into his eyes.  “You don’t under this at all.  I only want to teach you some humility.”

“Why do you care?” Bellatrix demanded.

That silenced him.  He pressed his lips together and a touch of anger appeared on his face for the first time.  Bellatrix held her breath and prayed that she hadn’t _really_ upset him.  She didn’t want to know what he would do to her if he was really angry…

And then he kissed her.

It caught Bellatrix completely off-guard – she had expected all sorts of things from him, but not a kiss.  That seemed far too tender and intimate for what he clearly intended to be a threatening situation.  Part of her mind considered taking the opportunity to bite him, or to take advantage of him being distracted and attack, but she hesitated, and before she had an opportunity to make a move, he had broken away and pushed her down face-first over his desk.  Bellatrix winced as her head banged against the wood, but she scarcely had time to think about it before the Dark Lord’s hand was beneath her nightdress and sliding up the back of her thigh.

“Pretty girl, bent over for me…” she heard him murmur, clearly more to himself than to her.  Bellatrix’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her fear of him was draining away quickly, replaced with intense expectation.  She wanted him more than she could say, more than she _should_ have, after how he had treated her.  She could practically hear her mother’s voice reprimanding her – _Blacks do not enjoy submission!_

The thought of what her mother would think if she saw Bellatrix in this position brought a smile to her face.  Druella would be positively scandalized, and that was a good, good thing to Bellatrix’s mind.

She could feel cool air on the backs of her thighs now, and felt the whisper of her nightdress being lifted up around her hips.  Her instincts made her want to straighten up, turn around and touch the Dark Lord, but the sense of disobeying her mother – and still a twinge of fear about how the Dark Lord would react to that – kept her still.

“You are learning obedience, then, Miss Black?” he murmured.  His hand was on her hip, his fingers drumming lightly against the bone.  “You’re finally learning how to submit to me?”

“Hardly,” Bellatrix told him, but her voice was husky and even she could hear lust in it.  This was _exciting_ , exciting in a way that Rodolphus wasn’t and never would be.  Rodolphus didn’t have power over her and he knew it…

“Then we’ll just have to keep… working…”  His fingers glided across her backside and Bellatrix jolted, then bit back a soft moan when she felt them slide into her from behind.  She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to arch backwards into his touch.  No matter what power he had over her, and no matter how erotic she found that power, she didn’t want him to know that he was affecting her.

Not that she doubted that he already did know.  She could sense his satisfaction, and he sounded nothing short of smug when he asked, “Would you like me to take you now?”

“Yes,” she murmured, expecting commendation for her honesty, and for the fact that _surely_ she was giving him the answer that he wanted.  Instead, she felt his hand come down hard across her lower back and she jolted forward.  “Ouch!”

“What you _mean_ to say, Miss Black,” he said in a low voice with a fresh edge of danger to it, “is ‘If it pleases you, my Lord’.  You are in no position to make demands, after all, Bellatrix.”  He clicked his tongue softly and Bellatrix dug her nails into her palms.  He was being so _infuriatingly_ condescending – she didn’t want to leave the decision up to him and _what pleased him_.  She wanted him to take her _now_ , fuck her _now._

“Whatever- pleases you,” she managed at last, through teeth gritted with anger.  “ _My Lord._ ”

“Well done…”  She could hear fabric rustling and prayed that he was undoing his robes and readying himself for her, because she didn’t want to wait a moment longer.  _Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!_

“Be patient, Miss Black,” he told her.  “You will never learn humility if you demand that everything is given to you the second that you begin to desire it…”

But everything _had_ always been given to her the second she began to desire it.  That was how she liked things to be – how she wanted things to be.  She _liked_ having her every whim fulfilled.  And the way that she wanted the Dark Lord then wasn’t just a whim – it was a frighteningly all-consuming desire.  She was _desperate_ for him in a way that she had never been desperate for anything or anyone before.

And the longer she was forced to wait, the longer he stood behind her – out of her sight – with his hand hovering over her, so close that she could almost feel it, but not _quite_ close _enough_ – the more of a thrill it became.

“Whatever pleases you, my Lord,” Bellatrix said, trying to sweeten her voice and make it sound demure and submissive, the way Narcissa talked to Lucius and her mother talked to her father.

“Good…” he murmured, and then Bellatrix felt him pressing in between her thighs and her body trembled with expectation.  She reached out to grip the far side of the desk, digging her fingers underneath the rim and holding on for leverage as the Dark Lord spread her legs apart just enough to give himself full access to her.

Bellatrix whimpered slightly as he pushed inside her – her own fingers, and Rodolphus’s, had not prepared her for his size, and she felt herself stretch around him.

“Oh… and I hadn’t realized you were a virgin…”  He shifted and she sensed him leaning down over her, so his chest was close to her back and he could whisper in her ear.  “I suppose you were saving yourself for your wedding night?  To give to your dear little fiancé?  And here I thought you were being brought to me because of your promiscuity…”

“Mmm…”  Bellatrix didn’t trust herself to form even a single word.  She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would say something prideful that he would make her regret later – that anyone who thought she was promiscuous was obviously blind, that she was a proper girl and hadn’t ever before even _considered_ giving herself fully to anyone before her wedding night.  Or she might say something else, something about how painfully, _sinfully_ good he felt.

“So you’ve never been to bed with Rabastan Lestrange…”  He sounded amused, and Bellatrix felt frustration well in her stomach.  Why was he talking about this?  He should have been focussed on _her_ , on what was happening between them _now_ instead of a conversation from days ago!

“No, my Lord,” she snapped.  “I have not.”

“I thought not… he would have told me…”

She considered demanding why he thought he would be privy to such information – _she_ certainly would not have told him any details of her personal life to him, had he not been about to take her – but no, she would wait until he had finished before she started asking questions like that.  She didn’t want to interrupt the moment.  She didn’t want to wait any longer.

He placed one hand on the centre of her back and pressed her hard against his desk, holding her still for himself.  He was using her like a doll, like something that had no feelings of its own.  Every breath strained her body, hurt her breasts where they pressed against the wood, and yet still, Bellatrix did not protest.  The mild pain – not enough to _really_ hurt her, but enough to cause some discomfort – almost made things more exciting.  Her body jolted against the desk with every thrust he gave her, each one stronger and quicker than the last, and Bellatrix arched back into him, adjusting her position by tiny increments until she felt his cock drag against a particularly sensitive spot inside her.

“There– oh, _there_ _!_ ”

The Dark Lord’s fingernails dug into her back – they might have almost torn through her nightdress and cut straight into her skin – and he hissed, “Don’t tell me what to do, Miss Black.”  His voice was thick and husky with lust, and Bellatrix _loved_ the sound of it.

“Whatever pleases you, my Lord,” she murmured, but he rubbed against the spot again and she groaned quietly, toes curling against the floor.  This was _so_ much better than rocking against Rodolphus’s fingers in an alcove at Hogwarts, or touching herself while she closed her eyes and fantasized about powerful, faceless men…

She heard the Dark Lord let out a quiet groan, and Bellatrix felt a rush of hot, thick liquid spill into her.  She clenched around him and leaned back, desperate for more of the feeling – he was throbbing, she could feel it, and she could hear his heavy, strained breathing behind her.  She wished that she could twist around and watch him, see his face while he rode out his climax, but when she tried to move, he forced her down flat onto the desk again.

“My Lord…”  Bellatrix was aching and her stomach clenched as she waited for him to place his hand between her thighs, waited for him to finish her, but all she felt was him pulling away.  There was a soft rustle of fabric and when she looked up, he had stepped back and was doing up his robes, keeping his eyes off her.

“What are you doing?”  She straightened up and spun around, clinging to the desk for support.  “What- what about _me_?”  It sounded silly and childish, especially when her voice rose in pitch and began to tremble.  “Aren’t you going to…”

He looked at her and his lip curled into something between a sneer and a condescending smile.

“Miss Black,” he said quietly, “have you forgotten that you’ve been sent to me as a punishment?  For _discipline?_   Did you really think I was going to give you a reward when you’ve been so insolent with me?”

“I- but you can’t–”

“With all due respect, Miss Black,” he murmured, leaning forward and touching her cheek, tracing the contours of her face with a delicate caress, “I will do exactly as I please.”  He lowered his hand and stepped back.  “Go back to bed, Miss Black.  And think.  If you want to be rewarded, then you’ll do well to improve your behaviour.  If you can do that… act like a decent lady, not like the little brat you _have_ been acting like…”  He trailed off suggestively, and Bellatrix didn’t know whether to be furious at his manipulation, or to fall to her knees and beg him to relieve her overwhelming frustration.

It took every ounce of self-control she had to say what she knew he wanted to hear.  But she _had_ to say it.  She knew well enough that sometimes, to get what she wanted, she had to do things she didn’t necessarily want to do.

And she wanted the Dark Lord very much.

So she forced herself to bow her head modestly, and she forced herself to say, “Whatever pleases you, my Lord.”

)O(

_Fin_


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